I've Never Been Framed For Murder…
by Eligent
Summary: I'm not sure there's anything to summarize, so I think I'll just skip that part and see if I can't draw someone in on curiosity alone. It might be about a boat… One shot


**I've Never Been Framed for Murder…**

**By Eligent**

**Summary: **I'm not sure there's anything to summarize, so I think I'll just skip that part and see if I can't draw someone in on curiosity alone. It might be about a boat… One shot

**Disclaimer/Author's note:** I don't own anything and I'm not English speaking. Consider yourself warned. Written sometime during season four, so obviously set long before 'Internal Affairs'.

--

For over a week now, naval personnel everywhere had stayed alive and well, and in addition, they'd also lived as model, law-abiding citizens. The consequence of such behavior was that it left NCIS without cases. After the first few blessed days of tranquility, boredom had set in. There was only so much backlogged paperwork you could do before the need for an activity overtook you. And while the agents weren't in the habit of wishing the life out of people… well, couldn't someone at least steal a car stereo or something?

With Gibbs suspiciously absent from his desk, a throng of people had gathered in the squad room and were nurturing a pet discussion of theirs.

"Maybe he chops 'em up for firewood," Tony suggested.

"Then what would be the point in building them?" Ducky asked. "And when have you ever known Gibbs to throw away something useful?"

"True," Tony agreed, "But he's built like four boats… and have you ever heard of him sailing any of them?"

"Maybe he sells them," Abby suggested, sitting cross-legged on Tony's desk.

"Maybe," Ducky agreed, rather doubtful. "But he still has to get them out of the basement somehow."

"Maybe he takes them apart, and then puts them back together again in the marina," Ziva suggested.

"They're boats," Ducky said. "Not a model ships. They're absolutely solid."

"Yeah," Abby agreed, "And if that was the case, then he could just build them in the marina in the first place."

"What about those ships in a bottle?" Ziva said. "Aren't they foldable or something? Can't you do that with a real boat?"

"Uh… no." Tony said. "Not unless it's a rubber dingy."

"But he has to get them out somehow," Ziva said. "And the windows certainly aren't big enough."

"Oh, oh, oh," Abby said excitedly, waiving her hand like a school girl. "Maybe he gets like a really big crane and lifts his house up and then lifts the boats up."

The others looked at her with varying degrees of skepticism.

"Without breaking the house?" Tony said. "You know, houses aren't usually moveable."

"You think of something then," Abby challenged him.

Tony wrinkled his forehead, looking around in concentration when he suddenly noticed that McGee wasn't partaking in the discussion.

"What do you think, Probie?" he asked.

"About what?" McGee asked uninterested without taking his eyes off his computer screen.

"About Gibbs' boats. How does he get them out of the basement?"

McGee looked up. "How should I know?"

"Well," Tony said, as if it was obvious. "You're a geek! You should know everything there is to know about science and math and the laws of physics and space and all that."

"And?"

"And you should be able to figure it out," Tony looked to the others for backup. "You know: the size of the boat in relation to the size of the door and stuff like that."

"Stuff like that…?" McGee said with raised eyebrows. "Tony, I've never set foot in Gibbs' basement and I've never seen any boats, so I really can't help you."

His statement was met by astonished silence.

"You've never been to Gibbs' place?" Abby asked.

"No."

"How's that possible?" Ziva asked. "I was there within days of my arrival to the country. I thought it was some sort of initiation rite."

"Well, not for me," McGee said.

"But why?" Abby insisted.

"Well," McGee said, ticking off the reasons on his fingers. "I've never been framed for murder, I've never had a stalker, I've never been in protective custody, I've never been chased by Israelis, the police, the FBI or homicidal maniacs, I've never needed any place to hide… shall I go on?"

"You know, Probie, you're waaaaay too normal," Tony said, looking almost sad on his friend's behalf.

"Yeah, well, I'm afraid I can't help you."

McGee turned back to his computer and the gang around him disbursed, except for Tony, who studied him closely for a minute and then nodded to himself as if he'd come to a decision.

--

"Come on," McGee cajoled as he turned the key in the ignition again, hoping to hear the sound of his motor starting, but all he got was a half-hearted cough. Leaning his forehead against the steering wheel he gave up. It was clear that his car wasn't going anywhere tonight.

A knock on the window made him jump and he looked up to see Tony grinning at him. Lowering the window he tiredly asked "What?"

"Car trouble?" Tony asked, still grinning.

"Yeah, it won't start."

Tony tutted, managing a somewhat sympathetic look. "Too bad. And it's Friday, you'll never get anyone to come take a look tonight." Sighing, like he was about to make a huge sacrifice he said, "Come on then, I'll give you a ride home."

"If it's not an inconvenience," McGee said sarcastically.

"No, not at all," Tony said jovially. "Come on."

Locking his car, McGee followed Tony over to his car and sank into the passenger seat. "Thank you," he said.

"Don't mention it."

--

They rode in silence for awhile until McGee suddenly noticed his surroundings. "This isn't the way to my place."

"Who said we were going to your place?" Tony questioned.

"Well," McGee said, somewhat snidely. "The 'home' in 'I'll give you a ride home' was a dead give away."

"Semantics," Tony said nonchalantly. "I'm sure we'll get to your place… eventually."

"Tony? Where are we going?" McGee asked sternly, but Tony just smiled at him.

"You'll see."

Ten minutes later Tony turned onto a drive way in front of a very nice house. He turned off the engine and turned to McGee. "Come on, we're here."

"And where's here?"

"You'll see," Tony said again, still as enervating as he'd been the whole ride.

McGee sighed, and admitting defeat he unbuckled his seatbelt, got out of the car and followed Tony up the path towards the front door.

Tony stepped up on the porch and knocked loudly on the door before turning to McGee and digging into his pocket. He pulled out his hand and held it palm up to McGee who looked dumbly at the items presented.

"What's that?" he asked, even though he recognized them.

"Your sparkplugs. You're gonna need them to get your car going again," Tony said very matter-of-factly.

"You sabotaged my car?" McGee asked incredulously. "Why?"

At that moment the door was wrenched open.

"Hi, Boss," Tony grinned as Gibbs glared at them.

McGee gulped. Gibbs was barefoot and wearing jeans, a fine layer of sawdust in his hair, holding a beer bottle. It was very clear that he was off duty and not happy about their presence.

"What are you doing here?" Gibbs growled.

"We were in the neighborhood," Tony told him sunnily, "and thought we'd stop by, see what you were up to."

McGee felt like the proverbial deer in the headlight as Gibbs turned his glare on him and he tried to stutter out a declaration of innocence, but Gibbs turned around and walked into the house, leaving the door open. Taking this for the invitation it was, Tony took a hold of McGee's sleeve and pulled him inside.

Before they'd even cleared the doorway Tony said, "You know, Boss, McGee was the star pupil in his woodshop class in high school."

"He was?" Gibbs sounded unconvinced.

"I was?" McGee sounded even more unconvinced.

"Yep," Tony continued. "He's a whiz with a sander and can hammer like a professional."

"A professional what?" Gibbs asked as he pulled two more beer bottles out of his fridge and offered them to his guests. "What is it you want, DiNozzo?"

"McGee wants to see your boat, Boss."

Gibbs turned his piercing eyes back on McGee who was doing a very nice impression of a fish, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find the words, any words, to be able to convey just how much this wasn't his idea.

But Gibbs just shrugged. "Sure, it's not a secret."

Leading the way to the basement door he opened it and then stood aside, gesturing for McGee to precede him.

McGee hesitated, looking between the two men, trying to figure out if the set up was over or if there was a nasty surprise waiting for him in the basement. But Gibbs wasn't really the type to play practical jokes on people.

"Did you know that McGee's never been here?" Tony asked as he and Gibbs stood at the top of the stairs, watching McGee descend.

"Strangely enough, DiNozzo, I did know that," Gibbs answered him wryly. "After all, it is my house."

"But don't you think that's strange?"

"Not really," Gibbs shrugged. "He's never been framed for murder, he's never had a stalker…"

Tony held up a hand to stop his boss. "Yeah, I know, he already told us that."

"What's the big deal?" Gibbs asked. "I've never been to his place either."

"You haven't missed much," Tony said jokingly. "It's a sad little place. Hasn't even got a couch."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and looked disapprovingly at him. "A sad little place? Careful, DiNozzo, that's a man's home you're talking about," he said, before lightly walking down the stairs to join McGee who stood in front of the skeleton of his newest boat, watching the light play over the polished wood.

"So what do you think, Probie?" Tony asked, joining them.

"Well… it's nice, I guess."

"It's nice?" Tony sputtered, as if McGee had just blasphemed in church.

"Well, yeah. I don't know." McGee sounded unsure, not knowing what he was supposed to say. "Uh… It's very nice? I don't really know much about boats, you know."

"Right," Tony slapped his own forehead in remembrance. "The whole getting seasick in the bathtub, right Probie?"

McGee glared at him, "I never used the word bathtub, Tony. But yes, as I tend to get seasick, I've never taken much interest in any maritime recreations."

"Huh?"

"Fishing and sailing, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"Oh, right. I knew that."

"So," McGee said. "I've seen the boat. Can I go home now?" Realizing how that must've sounded he turned to Gibbs, blushing in embarrassment. "Not to be rude or anything, Boss. It really is a very nice boat."

Gibbs tipped his bottle at him, a smirk playing on his lips, but Tony looked disappointed.

"What?" McGee asked.

"Nothing," Tony shrugged. "It's just a little anticlimactic, that's all."

McGee frowned. "Anticlimactic? What were you expecting? And why did you drag me here anyway?" He grimaced. The whole politeness thing wasn't really working out for him today. Gibbs stood two feet away, leaning against the work bench and McGee had now insulted his home twice in less than a minute.

"I just thought you wanted to see the boat," Tony said, disappointed that his surprise hadn't worked out the way he'd hoped. "Everyone else have seen it, I didn't want you to feel left out."

"I wasn't..." McGee said. "But thank you."

"Okay then," Tony said, clapping his hands together, his good mood returning with a vengeance. "It's Friday and the night's young. Sports bar or night club? Your choice McGee! Oh, and you can come too if you want, Boss."

"I think I'll pass, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, shooing them in the direction of the stairwell.

In the middle of the stairwell McGee turned his head back towards Gibbs and said conversationally, "So, Boss, how do you get the boat out of the basement?"

The End


End file.
